


Until Midnight

by sunaga



Category: Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Ephraim is worried about whether they're finally going to kiss and make up, First Time, Fix-It, Lyon is worried about the books, M/M, Magvel livejournal community, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2019-07-03 12:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15819366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaga/pseuds/sunaga
Summary: A masquerade reunites two princes who haven't seen one another since the end of the war.





	Until Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 4/23/2011 for the magvel Livejournal community. It placed 2nd in their 1st challenge, royalty. Posted to Ao3 8/27/18. With thanks to [Raphiael](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raphiael/pseuds/Raphiael) for letting me bounce ideas off them.
> 
> Inspired by Nicki Minaj's Moment 4 Life [music video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D7GW8TYCEG4) along with a shin kink meme prompt that ran away with me.

Once upon a time there was a prince named Lyon. After a disaster in which he was led astray, he was forced to divorce his power from his throne. He gave the power of the throne to his most trusted general named Duessel, and he kept the ornamental throne for himself at Duessel's request. To make sure he was not led astray again, the prince made his one companion and voice of reason, a shaman named Knoll, his chief adviser.

One day, while fingering the scar of a distant land’s prince on his belly, Duessel passed him a letter.

“It’s an invitation,” the Obsidian General said, “to the annual celebration of the Demon King’s defeat.”

Lyon pressed his finger through his robes and into his flesh. Even after all this time, he had a hard time believing he’d died from the wound there. “And?”

Knoll looked up from his papers long enough to grouse, “It’s your turn to go this year. I cannot go for you this year; I’ve made other plans already.”

“No doubt,” Duessel said, “he’s off to check on Sister Natasha’s progress in the temple. As for myself, I am old, and the Frelian wind that blows on the Renaisian castle this time of the year makes my bones ache. It would not do to have Grado represented by an old man who can’t get out of his chair.”

Lyon read the invitation again. “It says it’s a costume ball. What am I going to wear? The state doesn’t have the kind of money to buy me one. What am I supposed to do, borrow Knoll’s robes? That’d be too obvious, and there’s no way I can heft your armor Duessel.”

“You have to go,” Knoll reminded him without looking up from his books this time. “You’re required to go as the symbolic head of this country. You need to go and find additional funding for continuing relief and reconstruction.”

Duessel raised an eyebrow. “Couldn’t you have found a gentler way to tell him?”

Knoll shrugged, ignoring his cloak slipping off his shoulder to lay his palm over the letters. “We can’t keep telling the other nations he’s still convalescing. It won’t look good.”

Duessel’s armor clanked as he turned to Lyon on the balcony, and glanced at him from tip of his head to the tips of his toes. “I think I was your size when I was a lad.”

* * *

Lyon entered the ball looking like the prince he’d always wished he could be. He’d been surprised when Duessel had pulled velvet and silk out of his chests, and even more so that they’d fit. Military formalwear, Duessel said. They had needed to find a seamstress to do some patching and hemming though. After the additional embroidery and regalia, he looked like a prince. The jacket even had epaulets, and they’d found a golden dragon pin for his cloak as well.

He felt a bit of a fraud; he wasn’t heroic in the least. But he knew that at these much-hated parties, he had to act the part, otherwise he’d look all the more a fool. He tried to remember how Prince Innes and Ephraim acted at these events, shored up the remnants of his pride, and decided – hoped – it couldn’t be too hard to play the part until midnight.

The prince went through the night, feasting and trying to be as amiable as he could without dancing. He thought he was doing well; he’d made a few people laugh, and he’d made sure to greet and converse with all the heads of states. He had to introduce himself to everyone, both because his voice had changed when Latona’d been used to bring him back, and because before the war he’d done everything he could to avoid talking to these people. To his surprise, it got easier as the clock struck more and more.

Although he both dreaded and anticipated meeting the twin monarchs of Renais again, he knew he had to make his greetings. He had, however, been unable to find them at all. Eirika, at least, he knew would welcome him; she’d sent a few letters expressing her desire to meet with him. Before he went to search for them, he went out to the balcony to take a moment’s reprieve and gather his nerves.

The only other person there was dressed as a sage, and Lyon thought whoever dressed as a sage would at least have some semblance of calm and share his same love of silence.

He let out a large sigh and leaned over the ledge. So lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the sage talking to him until he moved next to him.

Wishing he could be out in the rose garden the balcony overlooked, he absentmindedly mumbled, “Pardon?”

“What are you doing out here?”

The voice was unmistakable, and Lyon turned around – probably in an unprincely manner – to face Ephraim. Lyon felt his face flush, thankful that his mask probably covered it.

“I, errrr – that is – ” He tried to play off checking the straps of his mask as a nervous fidget, but Ephraim noticed regardless.

“It’s fine. It doesn’t really matter anyway. What are you doing here, though; no one else has come out here all night.”

Lyon was surprised there was no instant recognition from Ephraim, but they hadn’t seen each other since the last days of the war. Both had been busy with their respective countries' reconstruction, and now Lyon’s voice had finally entered those last days of adolescence and deepened. Although, getting resurrected by a Latona wielding Rausten princess apparently left one’s voice altered as well.

“I don’t like large crowds,” Lyon admitted. “I prefer a good tome.”

Ephraim leaned closer, and Lyon could faintly smell the alcohol on his breath. “Really? Have you ever seen the library here? As part of the renovations a new section was added on pre-Demon King magic.” There was something cunning about his smile that worried Lyon, but when Ephraim offered to show him, he couldn’t say no.

When they reached the library though, Lyon realized Ephraim was more inebriated than he’d thought. That, or Lyon was more gullible than he thought. While Ephraim had lured him to the library with the promise of ancient texts, Lyon somehow wound up between the books and Ephaim’s body.

“The books…?” Lyon was mortified to hear his voice crack.

He could feel Ephraim’s lips at his ear, “Who cares?”

Lyon cared, very much, but he was very distracted by how close Ephraim was and they’d never been this close outside of their sword lessons and even then he didn’t remember Ephraim smelling this way and – Ephraim’s voice were a few notes lower than he was used to hearing, and he could feel the vibrations of it against his chest; maybe Ephraim had also found the last dredges of adolescence and – Maybe if he concentrated on the book titles he could dimly make out he’d be able to come up with something to say other than a moan.

“Hey, I’m right here.” Ephraim’s rough fingers guided Lyon’s face back to his, making sure his attention didn’t venture elsewhere. Then, as if noticing his hand was there at all, Ephraim gave an odd noise, cupped Lyon’s jaw and kissed him.

By the time Lyon could form thoughts – thank the Stones he wasn’t wearing a full mask, it made this kissing business _much_ easier – one of his hands on Ephraim’s shoulder and the other on his hip. And somehow, one of his traitorous hands had found its way up Ephraim robes and his thumb had found the dip right below Epharim’s hip. He pulled his hand back, but Ephraim dragged it back murmuring, “No, keep doing that.” He was rewarded with Epharim tipping his hips up with a satisfying sigh.

The room was dark, so when Ephraim made to remove Lyon’s mask, Lyon did it himself, leaving Epharim’s hands free to slip between his shoulder blades and untie the neat braid his hair had been pulled back into. As Ephraim’s mouth began to make its way down the suddenly open collar of Lyon’s shirt, Lyon made sure to get one sentence out, “Are you sure we should – ”

Ephraim flipped them around, letting Lyon’s weight press him against the bookshelf. “I’m quite sure,” he said as he nuzzled his neck. “Are you?”

“The books…”

“Forget about the damn books,” he growled, reaching for Lyon’s belt. Lyon swung his leg over Epharim’s hip.

“But what if we damage them – _oh_.” Ephraim pressed a bite to his collarbone.

“Fine.” And right as he was getting used to having Ephraim between him and the bookcase, he was dragged quite willingly down a series of hallways and towards a bed.

* * *

The next morning, Lyon made his way to the stables as soon as they were open. He was embarrassed to have run out on Ephraim, but what was he supposed to say? “Hi Ephraim, it’s been a few years, I haven’t apologized to you for resurrecting and getting possessed by the Demon King, but do you mind if we repeat last night?” When he slid from the sheets and gathered his clothes, he’d felt oddly guilty. At least before he made his way out, he’d pulled the sheets over Ephraim, and hesitantly pressed a kiss to his forehead.

He wasn’t met by the wyvern knight he’d expected at the stables, but by Ephraim leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey, Lyon,” he said.

“Ah, Prince Ephraim, I’m sorry I didn’t get to properly greet you last night – ”

Irritation flashed over his face, “It’s Ephraim, Lyon. I mean - ” He seemed even more aggravated at his loss for words judging by how roughly he reached into his satchel. Lyon felt his stomach drop as Ephraim revealed Lyon's mask; how’d he forget to pick _that_ up?

Ephraim crossed the distance between them in long strides – long legs, which had been comforting to tangle his own with – and gently pressed the mask to his face and then removed it.

“It’s a fit.” His frown turned into a small smile.

“Wait – you knew it was me all along?”

“Of course I did,” he snorted. “I’ve known you long enough. I wasn’t _that_ drunk last night either. Besides, who’s to say I haven’t been thinking of ravishing you for awhile?”

Lyon blushed. “Don’t tease me, please.”

“I’m not.” Ephraim paused, thinking, and then leaned down to kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

> Outtake:  
> When Lyon wrote to Knoll and Duessel letting them know he’d reconciled with Ephraim and would be spending much longer than anticipated in Renais, Knoll wrote back:
> 
> _So you’ve made up with Prince Ephraim? Excellent; I suppose I won’t have to worry about funding any longer._
> 
> And at the bottom, Duessel had scrawled, _Do enjoy yourself. You deserve to be happy._


End file.
